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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26494411">I Used To Be Bad at Surviving the Apocalypse, But Armageddon Better</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontKillBugs/pseuds/DontKillBugs'>DontKillBugs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Weblena Week Prompts! [22]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Character(s), F/F, Meet-Cute, Post-Apocalypse, Prosthesis, Some slight Fallout vibes, apocalypse au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:01:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,585</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26494411</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontKillBugs/pseuds/DontKillBugs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A few decades after the world fell, a water farmer with a prosthetic leg has a Post-Apocalyptic Meet Cute with a loner scavenger with a plastic beak.</p>
<p>Weblena Week 2020, Day 4: AU</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lena (Disney: DuckTales)/Webby Vanderquack</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Weblena Week Prompts! [22]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1162784</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Used To Be Bad at Surviving the Apocalypse, But Armageddon Better</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>2285</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    <em>Twenty-Three years after the Collapse</em>
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink.</em>
</p>
<p>Webby hummed cheerfully to herself as she hobbled toward the stairs. The loose bolt in her metal peg leg jingled musically with each step.</p>
<p>She reached the stairs, flattened stones that she had set into the hillside herself. Gripping the old wooden railing, she gingerly stepped down, one stair at a time. The stone was hot under her bare foot from the afternoon sun.</p>
<p>Her tail feathers poked out under her clothes. A salvaged work shirt, under a surprisingly durable leather vest she had found. A welder’s mask sat atop her head, gleaming in the sun. Webby shucked her work gloves from her hands, tucking them into her vest pockets.</p>
<p>Behind her, Home lay. Home was what she called the street in which she lived, the only one in eight otherwise empty houses. Eight deserted pre-Collapse houses that she had spent the past few years slowly restoring with her own two hands and whatever tools and materials she could scrounge up.</p>
<p><em>The best thing about the Apocalypse is that there’s always something to do,</em> she mused to herself.</p>
<p>At the bottom of the stone stairs, a few square feet of dirt led to the river. She stepped onto the dock she had built, multiple wooden pallets that had been nailed together and given various supports in the shallow river. The wood creaked and groaned underfoot (and underpeg) as she walked.</p>
<p>At the end of the dock, in the center of the river, an enormous metal tank sat, multiple pipes leading down into the water. At the top, a large canvas cone, which caught any rainfall and drained it into the tank. The massive water purifier hummed loudly as it Webby stepped up to it, tapping the dial with one hand.</p>
<p>“Lookin’ good, old girl!” She spoke chipperly. Webby grasped the metal spigot handle, twisting it. She frowned at the <em>Creak </em>it made as it turned. Wouldn’t do for the water purifier to get rusty. She’d have to come back out with some oil or something.</p>
<p>She held a battered, chipped mug under the spigot as cold, clean, clear water sprayed out. As the mug filled, she smiled, using her peg leg to slide a large bucket under the spigot before moving the mug. The purified water continued to spray into the bucket as she drank deeply from the mug.</p>
<p>“Ahhhh… oh, there’s nothing that tastes better.”</p>
<p>She plopped down in an old lounge chair she had placed on the dock as she waited for the bucket to fill. Next to the chair, a wooden sign that had “<strong>NO FISSION”</strong> scrawled across it. A second, usually empty chair sat next to it.</p>
<p>Taking another sip from her mug, she stared out at the woods across the river, and sighed contently.</p>
<p>This was the life.</p>
<p>Like a lot of people still alive these days, Webby didn’t have many memories of the world Pre-Collapse. This world, a world of solitude and DIY and patience, was all she knew.</p>
<p>Webby spied that the bucket was about to overflow, and quickly twisted the spigot off. Without standing, she leaned forward, snapping the plastic lid onto the bucket, and dragging the heavy bucket to the side. She slid the other waiting bucket back under the spigot, and twisted it back on. She held her hand under the stream, allowing the cold, crisp water to trickle over her remaining fingers.</p>
<p>She should count herself lucky, she supposed, that the Apocalypse hadn’t wound up nearly as bad as so many fatalist Pre-Collapse hack writers had warned. Sure, there was the occasional bandit or something similar, but most folks were just desperate, or looking for help, and all you needed to do was reach out and offer it. Even with technological progress blasted back to the feudal era, most people were still mostly good.</p>
<p>Of course, everyone had stories. Ma Beagle, the head of an enormous family of raiders. The mad King Glomgold, squatting in the ruins of his business empire, surrounded by a galaxy of bombs.</p>
<p>And some, just a few, spoke whispers of a witch, deep in the forests outside of what used to be Duckburg, biding her time. Others claimed she was long dead, her corpse entombed in a swamp. If you believed such things.</p>
<p>As the other bucket filled, she turned the spigot off and snapped the bucket’s lid on. She could already hear the water purifier loudly sucking water from the stream into its innards, working its wonders on it.</p>
<p>With a small but satisfied grunt of exertion, Webby hoisted herself to her feet, grabbed both buckets by the handles, and lifted them effortlessly. Her well-built muscles bulged under her work shirt as she began the task of carrying them back up the hill toward Home. She already had plenty of water to spare drinking-wise, but the Water Merchant was due to make their rounds later this week, and they’d gladly trade supplies for her surplus. Plus sometimes Huey, Dewey, and Louie would visit on their scavenging runs, and she always liked to send her brothers and sister off with plenty of hydration available.</p>
<p>Webby grinned as she reached the top of the stairs, Home coming into view. She had a busy day ahead of her. She had to repair the leaky roof in House #4, do the biweekly rations inventory, then she was planning on working on her wood-carving to wind down the day.</p>
<p>She smiled. “This is gonna be a good day.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~/~/~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Holy <em>crap, </em>today sucks.”</p>
<p>Lena grumbled to herself as she dug through the drawer in the back of the gas station. Her too-long hair fell back in front of her eyes, which she rolled as she blew upward, scattering her bangs around her forehead.</p>
<p>She stretched her hand into the back of the drawer, her fingertips running over only lint and what felt like a screw. She straightened up, cracking her aching back with her palms.</p>
<p>She had searched the entire gas station, and there wasn’t a dang thing to be found that she needed.</p>
<p>It wasn’t food, or water, though she was low on both. She wasn’t worried about finding that. Because even though food and water had somehow remained plentiful during the Apocalypse, it had become nigh-impossible to find anything along the lines of, say, the bones of a wild animal bathed in moonlight for seven days and nights, some untouched John the Conqueror root, or even some basic Eye of Newt. What self-respecting witch didn’t have at least one singular Eye of Newt?!</p>
<p>With a resigned sigh, she gave the cabinet one last frustrated kick with her heavy boot. She turned and headed back into the main area of the gas station’s store, its shelves picked clean. She tightened her duster around her, and pulled her scarf over the hard plastic of her beak.</p>
<p>She rubbed her eyes with her finger and thumb. She hadn’t slept in a week, not since her magic materials had run out. There wasn’t much in the world that could make her feel uneasy, but she’d give her front teeth for <em>something</em> she could use in a ritual.</p>
<p>Parked outside on its kickstand was the Fuckanizer, an old motorcycle that Lena had cobbled together herself from old parts she had scavenged. Sharp, tacky Boadicea wheel spikes jutted from the sides, and a skull she had found bedecked the front, a headlight wedged in its open mouth.</p>
<p>She hoisted one leg over it as she turned the key, smiling appreciatively as it roared to life despite the needle on the fuel gauge pointing to Empty, as it had for the past four years. At least magic made gasoline a non-issue.</p>
<p>Before she could twist the throttle on the handlebar, Lena stopped, feeling eyes on her.</p>
<p>She glanced around, scanning the treeline, searching for people hidden within the deep green.</p>
<p>No immediate threats made themselves known. She couldn’t sense anyone-</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh. Of course.</em>
</p>
<p>She craned her head upward, squinting against the sunlight.</p>
<p>There, perched on the old gas prices sign, overgrown with weeds and other flora, sat a single dark crow. It regarded her with beady eyes, before cawing loudly, a smug cackle that was quickly cut off by a blast of blue magic throwing it from its perch, scattering feathers.</p>
<p>Gritting her teeth, Lena gunned the Fuckanizer, zooming off down the road away from the gas station.</p>
<p>
  <em>Damn it. Gonna have to double back in a few miles, then take the long way around, try and lose it.</em>
</p>
<p>The crows were persistent, if nothing else. In the years Lena had been on the run, she could always count on seeing one of them at least once a week. Usually she could blast them, cut them off from bringing back any information… but occasionally, one slipped through the cracks. Just enough to keep her uneasy.</p>
<p>They may not have even been scouts at all. Maybe she was just being paranoid, blasting random birds into nothingness for the past few years.</p>
<p>Still. Just because she was paranoid didn’t mean no one was watching her.</p>
<p>She tried not to think about the far-too noticeable lack of weight in her saddle bags.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~/~/~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Time passed.</p>
<p>The sun sank in the sky, creeping down toward and past the horizon, before it vanished, leaving the world in a far more comfortable darkness.</p>
<p>Being a Shadow Homunculus, Lena didn’t need to sleep nearly as much as most people, but it was still a requirement, and the days of nonstop riding were beginning to catch up with her.</p>
<p>The Fuckanizer, ever-reliable, roared beneath her as the miles flew along behind her. She’d occasionally pass travelers, or traders, some of whom would wave, either as a greeting or a beckoning.</p>
<p>She never slowed, never waved back. People meant trouble. Meant attachments.</p>
<p>Lena felt her eyes begin to drift shut. She shook her head violently, feeling her magic brain rattling around in her skull. She just had to put another hour or so between her and that gas station, and then she could pull over and try to get a quick recharge nap in.</p>
<p>She felt like her brain was stuffed full of cotton. She had been tired for years, but this was something else entirely. It felt like it was getting harder and harder to think. The front of the bike shuddered violently as she ran over something. She wondered, not for the first time, if Magica was still alive, or if she really was dead, like the rumors whispered.</p>
<p>Lena suddenly became violently aware that she was sailing through the air.</p>
<p>Time seemed to slow down as adrenaline kicked in. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the old wooden bridge behind and below her, a splintered and broken gap in the railing, registered the Fuckanizer dropping sharply downward, saw the water rising rapidly to meet her, and</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>a dimly-registered series of half-there images and sensations as the blackness came and went</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>floating along the river, her weird magical buoyancy keeping her above the surface</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>bobbing along for who knew how far</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>her face in the mud, clothes drenched, </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>the nearby hum of a motor turning on</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>the first flickers of sunlight through the trees</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>a nearby clinking noise, rhythmic, getting faster and faster the closer it got to her</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>someone rolling her over on her back, a blurry smudge over her, a muffled mess of a voice garbling something that sounded like “are you okay”</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>being lifted</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>slung over someone’s shoulder</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>the only view being of someone’s back and tail feathers, the ground moving under them</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>her head being tilted upward, something cool trickling into her mouth</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>a strange sense of safety as sleep claimed her one last time</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Lena’s brain came back into focus slowly, easing her back into consciousness.</p>
<p>As she came back to the land of the living, her brain automatically took stock of her situation.</p>
<p>Soft sheets over a softer mattress, neither of which she’d seen in a long time.</p>
<p>“Okay,” she spoke. “Before I open my eyes: am I dead, or missing any limbs?”</p>
<p>Silence. Which meant either her captor was playing silent, or she was alone.</p>
<p>Lena slowly opened her eyes. An unfamiliar ceiling stared back at her.</p>
<p>She experimentally curled her arms, then her legs. Everything seemed present and accounted for. She ached like the dickens, but nothing unbearable. She slid her hand along the plastic of her beak. A little chipped, but still in one piece.</p>
<p>She slowly sat up in bed, glancing around her cell.</p>
<p>Her bed appeared to be in the middle of a pre-Collapse home’s living room. Big, mismatched curtains hung over the windows, which were open, allowing evening sunlight to shine in. Each window was outfitted with big metal shutters, likely for defense purposes, though they were open at the moment.</p>
<p>Next to her bed, a sofa, impossibly comfy-looking despite the wear and tear. Lena’s boots were placed on the ground next to it, her duster hung over the back. Another curtain hung halfway over the doorway into the rest of the house.</p>
<p>Lena had only just begun to suspect that her cell wasn’t a cell at all, before she finally noticed the folded piece of paper on the windowsill next to her bed. She plucked it from its spot, unfolding it to view its contents.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Dear Stranger,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Hi! I’m Webby! If you read this before I get back, sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up. You were pretty banged up when I found you in the river, and I brought you back Home to patch you up. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>I’ve stepped out for a little while to meet with the Water Merchant, they come around once every few weeks. I’m one of their suppliers! If you read this before I get back, just sit tight, I won’t be long.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>See you soon!</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>-Webby</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Lena snorted as she finished the letter. There was no such thing as a free lunch. This person who had kidnapped her was probably expecting to get something out of her. Well, she’d have none of that.</p>
<p>Wincing, Lena swung her aching legs to the side. She’d slip her boots and duster on, slip out the back door, make her way back to the river. If she headed back upriver, she’d hopefully find the Fuckanizer, and be back on the road before her captor even knew she was gone-</p>
<p>The front door swung open, allowing the sunset to shine in as- Lena did a double take- a short, but <em>ridiculously </em>buff woman sauntered in. She slid one bare webbed foot against the welcome mat, before noticing Lena staring at her. Her eyes brightened immensely.</p>
<p>“OH! You’re awake!” The duck quickly hobbled over to the bed, plopping down on the couch. Lena’s eyes were drawn to her leg- a metal peg leg, which appeared to have been jury-rigged from a street sign pole, jutted stiffly forward, resting against the matted carpet.</p>
<p>The stranger extended a hand with an eager grin. “Hi! I’m Webby!”</p>
<p>Still dumbstruck by her gorgeous muscles poking out from her vest, Lena awkwardly extended a hand, shaking Webby’s. “I. Uh. I gathered. I read your note. I’m Lena.”</p>
<p>“Good to see you’re feeling better! You’ve been asleep all day.”</p>
<p>Lena winced. “Yeah… that tracks. I hadn’t slept in like… a week. Probably fell asleep at the wheel. Hey, don’t suppose you’ve seen my motorcycle? Big thing, got spikes-“</p>
<p>“And a really cool skull on the front?” Webby interjected. Lena nodded rapidly. “Yes! That’s it!”</p>
<p>Webby winced, reaching behind the couch. “Yeah, I found it, but…” she laid a familiar skull with a shattered headlight wedged in its mouth on Lena’s bed. “There wasn’t much left of it when I did. Hit the rocks pretty bad.”</p>
<p>Lena slumped, trailing one finger over the skull. “Rest in Peace, Fuckanizer. You were a good bike.”</p>
<p>“Whose skull is that?”</p>
<p>“Dunno, found him like this on someone’s porch. His name is Guillermo.”</p>
<p>Webby sat back on the couch, idly rubbing her leg above where the metal peg ended. “He’s very handsome. I bet you two have seen a lot.”</p>
<p>Lena chuckled as she began to work the broken headlight out of the skull’s mouth. “Yeah, we’ve been all over the place.” She sighed. “Poop. There goes my ride. Guess I’m walkin’ until I can get a new one.”</p>
<p>Webby sat there on the couch, idly massaging her aching stump, staring at this mysterious beauty that had washed up on the shore by her water purifier. It wasn’t often that Webby got visitors, though she always enjoyed them. Beyond Huey, Dewey, and Louie, and the Water Merchant, she was mostly alone out here in this abandoned set of houses. She’d talk with some of the folks when she made the trek into town to barter for supplies, but that was about it.</p>
<p>Still. This mysterious Lena probably had somewhere to be. No point in delaying her any longer.</p>
<p>“Would you like to stay for dinner?” Webby’s mouth asked before she could stop herself.</p>
<p>Despite herself, Lena hesitated, the word <em>No</em> withering away at the back of her mouth.</p>
<p>“Sure.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~/~/~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lena sat awkwardly on top of the log, as Webby stirred the enormous pot that was placed over the fire. Thick chunks of tomato floated in the broth. It smelled amazing.</p>
<p>“What is this, tomato basil?”</p>
<p>Webby nodded with a proud grin as she scattered another handful of shredded herbs into the soup. “Sure is! Grew them myself. I’ve got a veggie garden behind House #3.”</p>
<p>Lena peered through the darkness at one of the other houses. “Do you really live alone in all these houses?”</p>
<p>Webby shrugged. “Yeah. I lived in a really big house when I was a kid, back before the Collapse, and I liked all the extra space. My siblings stay for a while every now and then, and I’ll usually offer one to folks who come through here, but people usually move on after a night or two.”</p>
<p>Webby cut herself off with a wince and a sigh, setting the soup ladle to the side. “Here, hang on a second.” She reached down and unwrapped the fabric that was knotted around where her prosthetic met her leg. She unlocked a few straps, and eased the peg leg off, setting it on the ground. She massaged where her leg ended, just above the knee.</p>
<p>Lena watched, fascinated. “Did you make that leg yourself?”</p>
<p>Webby nodded. “Yeah. I always thought pirates were cool, so after I lost the leg, I figured I might as well go for the gusto.”</p>
<p>“What happened, if ya don’t mind me asking?”</p>
<p>Webby shrugged. “Tetanus, if you can believe it. I stepped on a nail while I was repairing House #2.”</p>
<p>Lena winced. “Ouch. That sucks hard.”</p>
<p>Webby chuckled. “It’s kinda funny, in retrospect. I spend half my life training to be ready for any combat situation and survive in the field, and I lose a whole limb to an infected booboo. At least it comes in handy during planting season, I can just punch seed holes straight down by stomping.”</p>
<p>For reasons Lena could not begin to comprehend, she felt a sudden urge to commiserate with this impossibly kind soul that had rescued her.</p>
<p>Lena reached up for her beak. “If it helps, I can sympathize.”</p>
<p>As Webby glanced up from the pot at her, Lena clicked the plastic upper half of her beak to the left, sliding it from the plate Magica had jury-rigged into her mouth. Webby’s eyes widened in fascination (and not, Lena was relieved, in disgust) as Lena held her prosthetic beak aloft.</p>
<p>“Heah it ish.” Lena rasped, unable to prevent the slur in her words. “I’h had thish thing ‘hor yeahs.” She clicked the plastic beak back into its slot, giving her mouth a few experimental flexes before speaking again. “Doesn’t get in the way too much, at least.”</p>
<p>Webby gave a quiet <em>Wow. </em>“It looks super well-made. Who made that for you?”</p>
<p>Lena gave a quiet scowl. Webby noticed it, and raised a hand. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t wanna.”</p>
<p>“I do not. Thank you. We do not talk about the thing.”</p>
<p>“Gotcha.”</p>
<p>Webby snagged a pair of old bowls from the ground next to her, ladling several hearty spoonfuls of soup into them with an expert hand. She passed one to Lena, sliding a spoon along with it. “Dig in!”</p>
<p>Inside, Lena was shocked and amazed at how much she had let her guard down. She’d normally be on edge around anyone, much less someone offering her anything for free, and yet Webby’s earnest enthusiasm had knocked down her walls faster than anything else in the past few years.</p>
<p>Lena took a cautionary sip of soup, her magically enhanced taste buds searching desperately for some sign of poison or something similar.</p>
<p>It found nothing, save for some amazing flavors.</p>
<p>She took a larger gulp, savoring it as she gulped it down. “It’s delicious, thank you.”</p>
<p>Webby pointed gently with the end of her spoon, a small grin on her face. “Y’know, that prosthetic beak would probably make a half-decent soup bowl in a pinch. You never have to go without a plate, you’ve got one built-in!”</p>
<p>Lena stared at Webby for several seconds, before laughter overtook her. “What?! It’s part of my <em>mouth! </em>How am I supposed to chew?!”</p>
<p>Webby grinned, raising her own soup bowl. “That’s the beauty of soup! You don’t <em>have </em>to chew it!”</p>
<p>Still cackling, Lena raised her half-full bowl to her mouth jokingly. “Just gulp it down! Hey kids, come get y’all’s juice!”</p>
<p>The two ducks laughed loud and long around the campfire, echoing through the trees around them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~/~/~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Before Lena knew it, staying for dinner had quickly turned into staying the night.</p>
<p>“Are you sure?” She asked, sitting down once more on the comfortable bed in the house’s living room. “I can head out, I don’t want to be a bother.”</p>
<p>Webby shook her head, still smiling. “You aren’t a bother, Lena. I like having visitors, and…” a small, red blush crept across Webby’s cheeks. “…I like you.”</p>
<p>Lena bit down on her tongue in a vain attempt to keep her own cheeks from blushing. The two had barely known each other for a few hours, and they were already tripping over their own words like a couple of kids.</p>
<p>Lena felt what little resolve she’d had crumbling. “W-well, thank you. I won’t lie, I’ve missed sleeping in a bed.”</p>
<p>Webby coughed. “Uh, good. Great! I’ll just, uh… head next door, get out of your hair.”</p>
<p>Disappointment spiked in Lena’s chest. “Oh, uh, yeah. Sure. That works.”</p>
<p>There was a long silence.</p>
<p>“Well-“<br/>“Well-“</p>
<p>The two spoke up at the same time, accidentally speaking over each other, before stopping short, both sheepishly looking in opposite directions.</p>
<p>“Well, g’night.” Webby mumbled, not meeting Lena’s eyes.</p>
<p>Lena nodded. “Good night, Webby.”</p>
<p>There was yet another long pause as neither moved from their respective spots.</p>
<p>Webby’s eyes slowly trailed back toward this tall, dark, mysterious, beautiful angel she had pulled from the river.</p>
<p>Lena’s crept back toward this sweet, sincere, <em>beefy</em> duck who had shown her such kindness she hadn’t seen in a long time.</p>
<p>Webby smiled softly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~/~/~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lena stared up at the dark ceiling, lost in thought.</p>
<p>At her side, Webby snored softly, her head on Lena’s shoulder. Her peg leg hung from the bedpost by one of the straps.</p>
<p>Lena snuck another glance at her bedmate, and was overcome by Warm Fuzzies at Webby’s sleeping face.</p>
<p>She was so <em>cute.</em></p>
<p>This couldn’t last. Lena knew it. The longer she stayed, the more she’d want to put down roots, and that couldn’t happen. Good things didn’t happen to Lena, especially not this good.</p>
<p>Better for her to wake early and slip out quietly, before Webby woke up. It’d break both of their hearts… but it’d be better in the long run. Lena would be back in her element, and Webby could forget about her and move on.</p>
<p>Of course. That’s the only thing she could do. It couldn’t be helped.</p>
<p>Lena nestled softly under the covers, the pleasant scent of Webby’s hair in her nose, her warmth wrapped around Lena. Lena tried not to think about how incredibly, impossibly <em>safe</em> she felt.</p>
<p>She’d have to leave in a few hours, while it was still dark.</p>
<p>It sucked, but that was all there was to it.</p>
<p>She’d be gone by sunrise.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~/~/~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So tell me about this Water Merchant of yours that you mentioned.” Lena probed, one hand held over her eyes to shade from the midmorning sun.</p>
<p>At her side, Webby grinned as she hobbled, her peg leg clinking with each step. “Well, a year or two ago, me and a few friends teamed up, and we all built these water purifiers. We keep however much we want, and the Water Merchant trades us rations and other supplies for the surplus!”</p>
<p>Lena whistled, impressed. “Wow. What does he do with it?”</p>
<p>“<em>They</em> take it to some of the nearby towns and settlements, and they trade and barter it there, and around and around it goes.”</p>
<p>Lena nodded, mentally readjusting the pronouns. “So what do <em>you</em> do with what you keep?”</p>
<p>“I bottle most of it for drinking, save a little for baths, give some to folks who pass through.”</p>
<p>They reached the stone stairs leading down to the dock, where Webby had found Lena early the previous morning. Webby began the uneasy task of carefully hobbling down the stairs, when Lena suddenly offered her hand for support. “Here, lemme help.”</p>
<p>Webby’s face brightened. “Oh, thank you!” She quickly grabbed Lena’s hand, and the two began to ease their way down the stairs.</p>
<p>Minutes later, the two lounged leisurely in the deck chairs on the end of the dock, waiting for the water purifier to fill another bucket.</p>
<p>Lena let her head tilt back, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun mixed with the comfortable chill in the air.</p>
<p>For what had to be the thousandth time in the past two days, she and Webby snuck a glance at each other, before quickly glancing the other way.</p>
<p>There was something to be felt between them. It was undeniable.</p>
<p>Lena, with a croak, voiced the question that had been nagging at the back of her throat. “Should I… y’know… get?”</p>
<p>Webby turned to face her, giving her a look of genuine confusion. “Why?”</p>
<p>Lena shrugged. “I dunno. Feel like I’m bothering you.”</p>
<p>“You’re not. I promise.”</p>
<p>They fell back into silence, only broken by the hum of the water purifier, the trickle of the spigot, and the whisper of the river.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to.” Webby spoke softly. “Y’know. Go.”</p>
<p>Lena stayed silent.</p>
<p>“You could… stay here… if you wanted to.” Webby finished.</p>
<p>Lena tried her hardest to summon up a <em>No,</em> an objection, any denial at all.</p>
<p>None came.</p>
<p>Deep within her, something deep down in her soul whispered to her:</p>
<p>
  <em>Be Brave.</em>
</p>
<p>“I… I’d like that, Webby. I’d like that a lot.”</p>
<p>With a smile, Webby reached out one hand, gently grasping Lena’s, before turning to drag the almost-full bucket aside, swapping it for another.</p>
<p>This couldn’t last. Lena knew it.</p>
<p>She’d have to leave eventually.</p>
<p>Probably.</p>
<p>Maybe.</p>
<p>But for now… this seemed okay.</p>
<p>Lena sighed, leaned back in her chair, and exhaled deeply as the sun rose over Home, the first of many, many more to come.</p>
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